


Cowboy Up

by sootandshadow



Series: You Can Leave Your Hat On [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Dante being a brat, Incest, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, PWP, Twincest, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow
Summary: Despite how much he enjoys the creature comforts of a warm, soft bed, Dante can’t help but appreciate some of the benefits of roughing it with his brother; namely, the fact that there’s not a soul out here besides Vergil to judge him. Not that he’s doing anything worth beingjudgedof course, and he certainly isn’t a man to pass up an audience (willing or otherwise), but this time he’s got something a little more intimate in mind. It's a private show, for one man and one man only.





	Cowboy Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subtextually (sub_textual)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/gifts), [Cerberus_Brulee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberus_Brulee/gifts).



> Shout-out again to the Spardacest server for being enabling enablers and encouraging me to write more filth. Hit me up if you feel I should add any more tags, otherwise enjoy the ride! ;D

Despite how much he enjoys the creature comforts of a warm, soft bed, Dante can’t help but appreciate some of the benefits of roughing it with his brother; namely, the fact that there’s not a soul out here besides Vergil to judge him. Not that he’s doing anything worth being _judged_ of course, and he certainly isn’t a man to pass up an audience (willing or otherwise), but this time he’s got something a little more intimate in mind. It's a private show, for one man and one man only. 

It’s warm inside the tent, though Dante isn’t sure if it’s because of the weather or the sizzle of anticipation humming beneath his skin. By all accounts he should be feeling the draft a little more than usual, dressed as he is in nothing but his soft leather chaps and cowboy hat, but somehow his lack of clothing does little to cool him off. He jams the cork stopper into his trusty bottle of oil with a kind of nervous energy, tossing it towards their bedrolls as he gets to his feet with the grace of a hunting cat. The slickness he can feel starting to trail down his bare thighs only makes him shiver, a mere suggestion of what’s to come, and Dante has to resist the urge to push his fingers back inside and properly take the edge off. Had he not known that Vergil was mere feet away, completely unaware of the particularly naughty picture Dante makes right now, he might have given in to these baser urges. As it stands, fingering himself to a mediocre orgasm would be a wasted opportunity. 

Why should he settle for himself when he could have his brother instead? 

He throws open the flaps of their shared tent with more force than strictly necessary, posing in the newly formed doorway like he’s the main attraction of one of those traveling shows. Even without the benefits of a mirror, Dante knows exactly how good he looks like this, hip cocked to the side, smirk coy, the brim of his hat tilted just so. Sure it’s a little breezy between his beautiful, sculpted thighs but that was a small price to pay for looking good enough to eat. Somewhere in a distant town, Dante was certain he could hear the sweet, sweet sounds of bodices ripping and ladies fainting, and right there across the campfire Vergil-- 

\--does not swoon or blush or do anything even remotely like what Dante had envisioned he might during the long hours he’d daydreamed about this exact scenario. Vergil, his miserly, stingy, awful brother, doesn’t even _look up from his book_ , so engrossed in whatever he’s reading that Dante has completely slipped his mind. 

(Just for that, Dante will have another ten whole dollars added to Vergil’s bounty for crimes of ignoring the most handsome, well-groomed, humble man in the West.)

He clears his throat loudly once, twice, three times, until Vergil finally makes a questioning noise but doesn’t so much as glance his way. It is an affront to everything that is good and right in the world and for a solid few seconds Dante debates going back inside the tent and tying the flaps shut for the night. Sadly, aside from such a thing being a surefire way to rouse Vergil’s temper, it would also be a terrific waste of all of his hard work. More importantly though, he can’t let Vergil get in the habit of ignoring him every time he finds a new collection of pretty long words on some dumb old paper. 

So Dante gathers every ounce of smokin’ sexy style and sashays across their campsite, humming under his breath as he goes, making every step count as he sidles his way towards his brother. He’s got Vergil in his sights now, eyes on the prize, like a rustler sizing up some fine cattle that are ripe for the picking-- 

“You’re in my light,” Vergil complains, half-turning so Dante’s shadow isn’t falling quite so completely over his reading material. Dante counts backwards from ten in an effort to quash the childish urge to grab his brother’s book and run with it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that, tired of being ignored, but he knows that tactic only ends in bruises and black eyes. He’s not looking for that kind of attention from his brother, not this time.

(Also? Tussling with his brother with his junk so free and unprotected is courting disaster. He loves his brother, really he does, but he also loves his uh… “credentials” a little bit more.) 

So he settles for dropping down beside his brother, resting on his haunches and pressing close enough that he can rest his head on Vergil’s shoulder. His brother tenses reflexively for the briefest of moments but doesn’t shrug Dante off, and he decides to count it as the first victory of many. (Even if Vergil is _still reading_.) With a low rumble not unlike a purr he turns his head and noses at the soft skin of Vergil’s throat, taking a moment just to breathe in the familiar scent of freshly washed cotton, the earthy musk of aftershave, and the faintest hints of dried blood. When they’re curled up together in their sleeping bags there is nothing more comforting than the smell of his other half. Now, though, it just stokes the embers of Dante’s arousal, makes him all the more aware of the way his cock hangs flushed and heavy between his legs. 

It’s not enough to just be near him. 

“Vergil~” 

The plaintive note in his voice earns him a half-interested noise from his brother, and Dante knows an opening when he sees one. With a bit of coaxing he takes Vergil’s unoccupied hand in his, lacing their fingers together and stroking the cool skin with his thumb. From there, it’s a simple thing to ease their joined hands across Vergil’s lap and towards his own, letting them trail across smooth, worn leather and onto Dante’s bare flesh. Distracted as he is by his book, Vergil doesn’t even blink as his brother tugs his hand lower, lower, until his knuckles bump against something hot and firm and slick. 

Dante can feel the exact moment when Vergil realizes what he’s touching, his brother’s pulse spiking sudden and sharp, and all the money in the world couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a wide, self-satisfied smirk. _Jackpot._ His brother’s next exhale isn’t nearly as controlled, his fingers twitching in Dante’s grip, and Dante arches into the ghost of the touch, teasing them both. God, he shouldn’t be this hard already but he _is_ , arousal hot in his belly just from the mere thought of what might transpire between them. Sure, he has some semblance of a plan, knows exactly where he’d like Vergil’s cock at some point this evening, but he’s always open to suggestion. (Let no one say that Dante isn’t a flexible kinda guy.) 

He lets go of his brother’s hand, giving him the reins for now, and feels Vergil’s roughened fingers curl around his length in a grip so sure it makes his knees weak. The angle seems to matter little to him; Vergil precision and dexterity is unrivaled, his hands as deft with his knife as they are with his brother’s erection. Dante’s toes curl as Vergil strokes him in a languid, easy rhythm, dragging slick fluid down the length of his cock with every pass of his hand that only barely cuts the friction of his calluses. It’s good in that slow, curling smoke kind of way that makes him shiver, flushed and panting and hyper-aware of every touch.

Of course, Dante still wants more; he always wants more when it comes to Vergil. He is hungry for his brother in a way that these moments between them can only briefly satiate, a temporary balm to the gnawing, bestial ache that urges him to take, to devour, _to claim_. When they’re together like this, Dante wants Vergil to be incapable of thinking of anyone or anything but him, wants to dig his fingers so deep he leaves bruises on the very recesses of Vergil’s soul so his brother will never forget him. (He’s forgotten once before and Dante is determined that such a thing will never happen again while he still draws breath.) 

Right now, though, he really just wants Vergil to stroke him a little faster, wants him to stop being such a fucking _tease_ , and he cants his hips to make his feelings known. He doesn’t bother to muffle his pleasure when his brother acquiesces, Vergil’s thumb pressing briefly beneath his sensitive head before tightening his grip. It’s unfair how good his brother is with his hands, especially when he’s not even properly watching Dante fall apart at his fingertips. Dante would be considerably more annoyed about the whole thing if he wasn’t in the middle of reaping the sweet, sweet benefits. Fighting the pleasure pooling between his legs would be pointless, so he lets it wash over him, basking in the syrupy spread of heat, his eagerness only making the steady tightening of his loins all the more enjoyable. It’s not enough to make him come, not yet, not like this, but he can still practically taste the thrill of completion on the tip of his tongue. He tips his head back, fingers curled tight in the edge of Vergil’s jacket as he rides the cresting wave, and--

And then, because his brother really is that awful, Vergil takes his hand away to turn the page and re-settles his palm firmly back on Dante's thigh, pointedly away from his cock. Dante barely catches himself before he whines, unconsciously chasing after the pleasure despite the fact that there’s nothing for him to rut into but air. _Goddamnit_. He should have known better than to expect Vergil to play nice, but this is really something else. 

Vergil, for all that he hasn’t even looked in his brother’s direction, at least seems to be well aware of his displeasure. "Patience, Dante. I'm almost finished."

"C'mon, brother, can't it wait? You're missing a once in a lifetime opportunity here." When Vergil doesn't take the bait -- unsurprisingly, because Dante would wear this get-up again in a heartbeat -- he changes tactics. He kisses the soft flesh of his brother’s neck, presses his teeth sharply into it despite the way it makes a growl rumble low in Vergil’s throat, bites his way up to his earlobe and murmurs, “Haven’t had much time to do it proper since we left Red Grave but we got all the time in the world now. Let me ride you, Verge. Wanna feel it all day in the saddle tomorrow.” 

He’s got Vergil’s attention now, can practically feel the weight of that pale stare as his brother turns his head towards him and, to his great delight, captures his filthy mouth. Dante’s answering moan is one of unabashed glee even as Vergil swallows the noise because this is it, this is definitely the breaking point of his brother’s control. For all that he plays the cool and composed lone wolf, Dante knows better than anyone the depth of his brother’s still waters. He wants to draw that part of his brother out now, begging him to come play in a game that is nothing like their boyhood past-times, coaxing and needling and prodding with tongue and lips and teeth until Vergil can do nothing but give in to him. 

With every kiss he presses closer to his brother’s side, half-way into his lap by the time Vergil draws away with a small, satisfied hum. His trousers feel rough against Dante’s naked erection but that doesn’t stop him from grinding against Vergil’s thigh, reveling in the faint wet patch its making, temporarily marking his brother. Vergil, for all that he will undoubtedly complain about it later, doesn’t do anything to stop him, instead cupping Dante’s flushed cheek with his palm and stroking the edge of his kiss-swollen lips with his thumb. He’s watching Dante in that way that turns his insides to jelly, so predatory that it makes the devil under his skin burn with equal parts lust and challenge. Like this Dante wants nothing more than to demand, to ask, to beg that Vergil make good on the unspoken promise in his gaze, to lay his claim on the parts of him that only his brother can reach. 

Instead, he catches Vergil’s roving thumb between his teeth, eyes half-lidded, coy in his assured victory. He thinks nothing of the way Vergil’s lips curl upwards in the tiniest of self-satisfied smirks, too focused on the taste of his brother’s skin to think of anything but taking more than just his brother’s finger into his body. Naturally, that’s the exact moment when Vergil plays his hand, a royal flush to Dante’s full house. 

“The way I see it, there doesn’t seem to be anything stopping you, little brother.”

And oh--- oh, how _dare_ he, he is the worst brother in the history of brothers and---

Dante sucks in air sharply through his teeth, grinning in name only, as Vergil settles himself more comfortably against his tree trunk backrest and rearranges his legs to make a moderately better lap. He does not, however, put down his book, or even look back at Dante once he’s resumed his reading. The temptation to throw the novel right into the campfire is so vicious Dante has to dig his fingers into his own palm to keep it at bay. Fine. _Fine._ If Vergil wants to do it like this, it’s his loss. Dante will just have to use his brother’s body for his own pleasure, then, while Vergil enjoys his _book_. 

He deposits himself graceless onto his brother’s lap, feet on either side of his hips as he reaches down towards the fastenings of his trousers. The bulge he finds there is a bitter sort of consolation and any other time he would have teased it, enjoyed the pulse and the heat of it against his palm. Now, though, annoyance itches just beneath his skin, and he doesn’t have the patience to properly appreciate his brother. (What’s even more annoying is that the casual dismissal has done nothing but fuel his _own_ arousal, his cock still curved towards his belly, flushed and aching with the anticipation of what’s to come. Only Vergil would have this kind of effect on him, and it’s as delicious as it is infuriating.) 

Wasting no time, Dante opens Vergil’s pants just enough to free his cock, biting his lip hard against the urge to put his mouth on it. Just the sight of it makes him swallow audibly, hungry, eager, always so eager to please. He wants to bury his nose in the pale hairs at the base of Vergil’s cock, wants Vergil to clutch at his head while he takes his brother apart with his tongue, wants to see the tiny little cracks in his brother’s facade as he comes undone down Dante’s throat. 

But this isn’t about making Vergil feel good. _Vergil_ has decided not to play, and therefore it is decidedly Not Dante’s Problem whether he gets off on this or not. 

He spits into his hand and jerks Vergil’s cock to full hardness with more roughness than usual, sacrificing technique for efficiency (though, judging by the hitch in Vergil’s breath, his brother doesn’t seem to mind). Though he’s supposed to be keeping this as impersonal as possible, he can’t help the way it makes him pant, eyes drawn to the slide of his brother’s cock in his fist, a sound of pure pleasure making its way past his lips before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of feeling the weight of it in his hand, the pulse of blood steady against his palm, his brother’s heartbeat somehow always matches his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Dante can see that Vergil - for all that his eyes are still on his book - is not as unaffected as he would like. Through dark lashes, Dante can see the flush that’s spread across Vergil’s face, dark against his pale skin, his brows furrowed and edge of his jaw tense. 

_Good._

Dante tucks his forehead against Vergil’s shoulder, reaching back to hold himself more open and watching his own hand as he eases his brother’s cock inside him. He can’t help the moan that it tears out of him, the steady stretch burning away the last vestiges of his irritation. This, _this_ is what he wanted, from the moment he’d pulled his chaps onto bare skin and shivered at the way they’d felt. This was what he wanted when he’d slicked his own fingers and fucked himself open on them, determined to be ready for Vergil the moment his brother got with the program. His heartbeat is a thunderous rush in his own ears, high on his own voyeuristic pleasure and the feeling of being spread so well on his brother’s cock, and it’s _delicious_. Pure electric want sparks along his nerves and Dante’s fingers clutch at Vergil’s jacket, grounding himself as he grinds down, savouring every inch of Vergil buried deep inside him. For a long moment it’s everything he wants, a kind of full-body relief even as his blood burns through him. But there is no ultimate satisfaction to be found here; not in stillness, at least. 

The pace he sets is hard and fast, pushing his body into a rhythm that tests the limits of his partially human form but serves to only make the devil inside thrash in search of more. ( _More, harder, deeper, faster, until he and his brother no longer separate, until they're united into a perfect being._ ) It takes him a handful of tries to get the angle right, and while maintaining it without Vergil’s help is a little tricky, Dante has never been a quitter. He fists one hand in the shoulder of his brother’s jacket and curls the other fiercely in the brim of his hat, balanced precariously, thighs already burning as he drives himself down on Vergil’s cock again and again. Vaguely, he’s aware of a stinging sensation in his bottom lip, the feeling of liquid running down his chin, and when Dante swipes his tongue over broken skin he moans at the taste of his own blood. 

Like this, he’s balanced on a dangerous precipice, fierce and aching, thighs trembling with exertion as every slap of their flesh feeds the tightening coil of arousal low in his gut. He needs something more, just a little bit, just a little bit more and he could--

Dante feels the bite of Vergil’s fingernails in the nape of his neck, forceful, unrelenting in their claim, and he groans his brother’s name as the heat sizzling in his blood explodes like a supernova. He arches into Vergil’s hand, throat bared, as he drops his hand down to grasp himself, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until he’s shuddering with it. The sensible part of him is warning him to be careful of making a mess, especially on his brother’s nice clothes, but it’s being drowned out by the louder part of him that’s practically purring in satisfaction at the way Vergil’s fingers are gently stroking the base of Dante’s skull. _Yes,_ his devil all but hisses, preening and pleased. It is only right that he should be appreciated like this, at the height of his debauchery.

But even in the lingering haze, he can still feel his brother’s tension, how hard Vergil’s cock is inside him, keeping him spread even as the last tremors of his orgasm make him clench tight around it. Vergil hasn’t come yet, and the thought fills him with a different sort of pleasure, this kind far more vindictive. It serves him right, though, for insinuating that Dante should just satisfy himself with the bare minimum, that his needs are less important than whatever poetic drivel he’s got his nose buried in. Through his self-congratulatory preening he hears the familiar sound of a book being snapped shut, the sharp _thwap_ making his spine straighten before he’s even aware he’s doing it. Vergil’s sudden attention is a palpable thing, sharp as the eyes of a hunting hawk, and Dante is helpless against the way his cock twitches when he feels not one, but both of his brother’s hands sliding down his naked back.

“Feeling better, _Dante_?”

Oh Dante knows that tone, that roughed edge, that liquid violence, and he shudders all the way down to his core. He peels his eyes open to look down at his brother, breath catching in his throat at the sight of Vergil, colour high in his cheeks, pupils blown so wide his iris is but a pale, icy ring. Dante suddenly can’t find his voice to answer, words stuck in his throat and Vergil tsk’s softly at him, leaning forward to swipe at the trail of dried blood on Dante’s chin with his tongue. There are so many things he should be doing, so many quips he should have ready and waiting, but Dante is rarely ever prepared for the intensity of his brother. As such, he is pinned by it, like a butterfly on display, a rabbit caught beneath the paw of a lynx, helpless to do anything but squirm and pant under Vergil’s scrutiny. 

“Somehow, I doubt that easy lope is going to leave you with any lasting memories,” his brother muses, low and dangerous, and Dante can feel Vergil’s hands on his ass now, grip turning tight enough to bruise. “Shall I show you how it’s done?”

Dante’s bravado is still struggling to pull itself together, but he manages a cheeky grin, rolling his hips and reveling in the way it makes his brother’s cock shift inside him. 

“Give me your worst.” 

He catches a glimpse of Vergil’s sharp, bared teeth before his brother’s hands are under his thighs and he’s being _lifted_. Like this, Dante has no more leverage, held up and spread and powerless to do anything about it as Vergil sets about hitting every tender spot inside him, gravity and his brother’s own strength all but reshaping his insides. A part of him is grateful there’s no one else around to hear the frankly desperate noises his brother wrings out of him, voice going high and reedy as his throws his arms around his brother’s head, clutching him like a lifeline. It doesn’t help that he’s still sensitive, hole clenching around Vergil every time his brother’s cock catches a little near the rim, but fuck if he doesn’t want it bad enough to beg for more, more, fuck Vergil _please_. 

His brother, blessedly, _finally_ is willing to give him what he wants and Dante just buries his face in his brother’s hair and chokes on his name over and over and over as Vergil fucks him steadily towards a second, wretched climax. He doesn’t need to touch himself, the friction of his still slick cock against Vergil’s shirt more than enough to make him burn, toes curling helplessly. It’s Vergil’s low, almost painful groan that pushes him over the edge though, the hot pulse of his brother’s cock inside him a pleasant afterthought as his body tightens in a spike of molten, aching pleasure. 

They take a moment just to breathe, and though Vergil pries his fingers off of Dante’s thighs and lets him lower his legs, Dante can still feel the ghost of their hold. Good. They won’t last as long as they would on a true human, but he’ll still have time to trace the marks later when they’re curled up together in bed. The thought makes him shiver and he tries to ignore the weak pulse of want in his loins. Two rounds is plenty, especially since they will actually be traveling tomorrow, and as much as Dante can talk a big game he doesn’t truly intend to let these kind of activities slow down their hunting. 

Vergil, however, seems to have other plans. 

Dante makes a querying noise when Vergil carefully lowers him onto his back, rolling up onto his knees so they stay joined, effortlessly resuming the slide of his cock in and out of his brother. He hooks his hands under Dante’s knees to find a better angle, and all too soon Dante finds himself gasping for breath, skin tight and shivery as he stares up at his brother’s face. Vergil’s eyes are still dark and half-lidded, greedily drinking in the positively indecent sight Dante knows he makes, spread out for his brother’s viewing pleasure, beautifully fucked out and still slick with his own come, naked save for his leather chaps. His face feels hot under such obvious inspection but he revels in it just the same, and Dante’s chest swells with pride as he lounges before his brother like some idol of debauchery. This? This is the kind of attention he deserves.

He wants to do something more than just lie back, but his legs and his spine feel like they’re made out of his jelly. The best he can manage is a brief tightening of his insides, clutching around Vergil’s leisurely thrusting cock, and his pulse spikes when Vergil’s lip curls in the faintest of snarls. Dante can’t resist, can’t stop himself from smirking up at his brother in that self-satisfied, cocky way he knows will only goad him into escalating the situation even more. He shouldn’t, really; he should heed the burning of his muscles and the aching of his insides and the way his cock throbs in overstimulated pleasure. But Dante has never been good with limits and Vergil--

Vergil’s thumb is suddenly pressing in alongside his cock and Dante chokes on a moan as he stares up at his brother, eyes wide and uncomprehending. His brother merely hums, a low, contemplative sound, as he hooks the digit to spread Dante even wider, seating himself more firmly with his next thrust. Dante gapes at him until he feels the trickle of fluids seeping from where they’re joined, the silence filled with the absolutely filthy noises of Vergil fucking his come out of Dante in deep, measured strokes. His brother’s name leaves his lips in a whine as he arches, fingers scrabbling at the dirt above his head, torn between leaning into Vergil’s touch and pulling away. It skirts the line of pain and pleasure and yet it’s so unbearably hot that Dante thinks he might combust. Fuck, he shouldn’t want more but he does, _he does_ and his brother is going to be the death of him. 

Naturally, Vergil shows him no mercy, crooning at him as he leans in close, the movement pressing Dante’s knees towards his chest and driving his cock impossibly deeper. It makes him keen, and Dante only realizes that Vergil’s thumb is no longer inside of him because he’s caught both of Dante’s hands in his own, pressing them into the dirt as he starts to fuck Dante again in earnest. Like this, he can’t seem to catch his breath, treacherous cock making an effort to rouse again even as very brush of Vergil’s shirt against him makes Dante want to squirm away. He manages to make one sound that isn’t quite so broken, a low, pleading noise that gets quickly lost in the hiccuping moans Vergil seems very intent on fucking out of him. In his feverish daze of too-much-too-soon-please-more, he swears he hears his brother chuckle, feels the press of lips to his sweaty temple as Vergil murmurs, 

“You wanted my attention, little brother, and now you have it.” 

Dante has a feeling they aren’t going anywhere tomorrow after all.


End file.
